The Future King of 221B
by moeranda
Summary: Sherlock has been waiting a long time for his King to return to him. Now he must wait the most agonizing months of his life for John to remember who he is and what that means. His situation is made more unmanageable by an interfering Mycroft!Uther and his mission to find and reunite the knights of the round table. Some of them might just have been hiding right under his nose.
1. The Long Wait

"I cannot wait any longer Mycroft!" Sherlock shouted. Mycroft looked up momentarily puzzled before he schooled his features back into his usual carefully honed persona of indifference.

"You can wait as long as you have to wait SHERLOCK"

"I should not have let you pick my name for this century." Sherlock replied and huffed as he threw himself down onto the sofa.

"Well, I don't find Mycroft to be much more tolerable, as you very well know"

"I think it suits you." he said as he peeked through his long lashes and watched as Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"He will come in time, you know" Mycroft looked almost sympathetic as he said it, "How do you think I feel? Knowing that my son may or may not be out there at this very moment with no idea as to who I am?"

"Not very good I imagine. Not to mention you didn't leave things with him all that well did you? You were a bit of a dick I must say"

"You're not exactly one to talk about the way you left things are you" Mycroft prodded harshly and deliberately. A stony silence reigned between them and harsh lines settled over Sherlocks features.

"AND _YOU_ ARE NOT THE ONE THAT HAD TO WATCH HIM DIE AND THEN WAIT CENTURIES FOR HIS RETURN ARE YOU? You didn't have to be born over and over again just to live another fruitless lifetime waiting for him!

"How dare you speak to me this way! Do you forget who I am?" Mycroft bit out.

"I remember who you are perfectly well Uther Pendragon." Sherlock raged. "But perhaps you do not. You are no longer my king. This is no longer your world." He gestured wildly. "That's what this is about isn't it? You cannot stand the thought that the only reason you have been brought back is to be of service to fate. That your own son and his servant boy are more important that the great reign of King Uther. That you are nothing but another villainous blight upon history as far as the world is concerned"

Uther looked stricken and realized that he had once again forgotten that Sherlock and Merlin were the same he was speaking to the most powerful sorcerer the world and not "his brother". Uther had gotten quite good at pretending after all. So well, in fact, that he sometimes forgot that he had ever been anyone other than Mycroft Holmes at all.

"You would do well to remember Merlin that until Arthur returns you are of no use to anyone. Allowing you to work on cases to alleviate your boredom is something I can easily take away and how will your bleeding heart help people then? I might not be able to damage you physically for the fate of mankind, but for all intents and purposes I am the British government and I can make this very difficult for you."

"But not as difficult as I could make it for you" Merlin responded, a smug expression lurking on the edges of his lips.

Uther may have let most of his prejudices toward magic fall by the wayside, but the thought of magic still left his stomach in knots. After all when he was born as Mycroft Holmes he had no idea that magic even existed and he had lived as Mycroft Holmes for nearly as long as he had lived as Uther Pendragon. Mycroft was seven years old when he first started having the visions. The first time he had just woken from sleep and for a long time he convinced himself that it was only a memory recovered from a distant dream he had forgotten.

_Mycroft was walking through the woods only to happen across a little girl dressed in a long flowing robe. "Catch me if you can!" she shouted and took off through the forest darting in and out of the foliage. Did she want to be friends? Mycroft had never had a real friend before. He was much too smart to be friends with the Neanderthals, he went to school with after all and yet... Something about this little girl made him want to give chase. He found himself running after her not entirely of his own accord, with branches snapping and cracking under his feet. When he stopped running he could see a water and a distant tower of some sort. Where was the girl? There was no where else she could have ran to surely? _

_But on his second glance he saw the girl standing with her legs in the water, her dress weighed down by her soaked clothing. "He is coming, " she said and though her voice was that of a child it seemed wise. "The one called Emrys will come again, as he has come hundreds of times before. You must help him seek what he has lost. The one called Emrys is born again…. Redeem yourself."_

That same year his brother Sherlock was born. When Mummy had asked him what they should name the new baby he had nearly blurted Emrys, but surely a dream was a just a dream after all? There was no reason to play into the delusion that his dream had actually meant anything, only the weak minded would believe such a thing. Instead, Mycroft suggested an equally unique name.

"Sherlock" he answered, "Well" Mummy had said. "I do believe that name is worthy of a Holmes. We shall call him William Sherlock Scott Holmes, a strong name to be sure."

Predictably. _Well… predictable if you know Sherlock he thought. _Sherlock had refused to answer to the name William at an early age. After all, William could be the name of just about anyone, couldn't it?

"But so many boys at the park are named William! I refuse to have the same name as them!"

"What kind of Pirate would be named William anyways?" and as he got older Do you know how many people named William are born in England every day?"

Uther may not be Uther Pendragon any longer, but he wasn't completely Mycroft Holmes since remembering either. He often felt like Sherlock was his responsibility, after all what kind of brother would he be if he let Sherlock inevitably kill himself in some mad scheme?

But... Well Sherlock wasn't quite Sherlock either was he? His little brother was the greatest sorcerer the world had ever known and his mind constantly interchanged the two names based on the situation.

No matter how angry he was or how much he remembered of his past life he knew that Uther was not who he wanted to be. He had been given another chance and he was not that man anymore. He would be better this time. Better for his son and maybe even better for his "brother"._ Merlin._


	2. Chemicals React

Sherlock was having a spectacular day today. First, Lestrade had called him in on a case and now he had secured a flat that would hopefully be far enough out of the way that Mycroft wouldn't come and bother him. One could hope.

_Gods, Mycroft_, he thought, his mind wandering as he hailed a taxi to Barts.

Sherlock remembered hating Uther quite clearly, even now thinking of the man caused something inside him to flare up with burning resentment. He was short-sighted, prejudiced and stuck in his ways even though any reasonable person could see how flawed his logic was.

But Mycroft... Well, he had protected Sherlock as children, he supposed, to the best of his ability anyway. When his parents found him excitable and too much to handle it was Mycroft that had praised his intelligence and took him to a nearby park to play pirates. Mycroft was even the reason he became a consulting detective, a fact that Mycroft was aware of, but thankfully had never brought up in all of their many disputes. Mycroft and Sherlock had spent hours as children playing deductions, an outlet that Sherlock had desperately needed to prevent him from succumbing to mind numbing boredom.

Mycroft would come home during his breaks from public school and almost immediately would jump into the game. "Tell me Sherlock, what can we deduce about Nanny?" It was almost his way of saying I missed you, but of course the words were never uttered aloud. Sentiment.

Unlike Mycroft, Sherlock didn't remember a single thing about his past lives until he was well into his teen years and away at Eton. Making an already miserable experience for him even more intolerable. His peers seemed to have a particular aversion to Sherlock (not that he quite minded, they were all idiots after all) but when the visions had started he almost allowed himself to believe that everything people had ever said about him was true.

"Nutter"

"Sociopath."

"Has a bit of screw loose, tha' one. If ya know what I mean."

To call them "dreams" would be an understatement, perhaps "visions" would be a more suitable word. Sometimes they appeared as dreams so much in the fact that he was sleeping, but more often than not they would occur in the middle of the day while Sherlock was wide awake.

Perhaps his transport could no longer support his overwhelming genius and he had finally cracked? The very idea terrified him, his brain was the only thing he could depend on. If he could no longer trust his brain to function properly that would mean he would become as ordinary and boring as every other person he had ever met. Worse still, unlike them, he would still remember being extraordinary. He would always be reaching and never again be able to grasp. He couldn't tell his secret to Mummy or Mycroft for fear of being locked away somewhere. No, he had to be alone in this.

The first time he was in the middle of chemistry, his teacher asking the class to produce a basic Glycine-nitrate reaction (elementary.) when he got a sudden and terrible headache. His fists clenched in, against the sharp pain and he closed his eyes as he was forcibly brought to his knees by the onslaught. He felt as if he was drowning.

No, that wasn't right. He felt as if all the air had left his lungs at once but none would enter back in.

_**** _"_**C'mon then, run"**_ _said a light haired man. "__**It's supposed to be moving target practice"**_

_And a throwing knife soared through the air, landing on a round wooden table that another man was carrying followed by another and another. _

"_**Hey. C'mon that's enough."**_ _he found himself saying. _

"_**What?"**_ _said the light haired man._

"_**You've had your fun, my friend," **__he heard himself say. _

"_**Do I know you?" **_ _the man replied and Sherlock could tell that this man was someone quite important by how well his armor was polished. _

"_**Uh, I'm Merlin"**_ _he said and held out his hand. Merlin? Who was Merlin and why was he telling someone that was his name? _

"_**So, I don't know you?"**_ _said the man. _"_**No." **__he found himself replying. _

"_**Yet you called me friend?" "That was my mistake."**_ _Sherlock was very glad that he seemed to be in control of his higher brain functions at least. _

"_**Yes, I think so." "Yeah, I'd never have a friend who could be such an ass." **_

_The man laughed _"_**Or I one who could be so stupid. Tell me Merlin, Do you know how to walk on your knees?"**_

"_**No." **__his lips moved of their own accord. _

"_**Would you like me to help you?"**_

"_**I wouldn't if I were you,"**_ _he found himself amused by the man, even though in his mind Sherlock knew he was about to be in serious trouble. It was as if the emotions he was feeling were being inflicted on him by an unknown entity. _

"_**Why? What are you going to do to me?" **__the man replied and Sherlock detected a bit of an innuendo there, although whoever this "Merlin" person was, he didn't seem to realize at all. _

"_**You have no idea" **__or maybe he did? It was hard to tell at this point. Sherlock was feeling things that didn't seem to make sense with what he was seeing. There was rage, sure, but there was also some sort of intrigue and Sherlock could feel fondness for some reason that didn't seem to make sense. Was it his fondness or this Merlin person he had taken on the role of? _

"_**Be my guest! c'mon! c'mon" **__and Sherlock found himself swinging at the man in the armor. _

"_**I could put you in jail for that." **__blondie said after ducking the punch. _

"_**Who do you think you are? THE KING?" **__shutupidiot, shutupidiot CANT YOU SEE HIS ARMOUR?_

"_**No, I'm his son. Arthur."**_

_ARTHUR?_

When Sherlock became aware of his surroundings again, he was on the floor of the chemistry lab clutching his head while the other students stared at him.

"Hey Freak! Whose Arthur? Your boyfriend?" He heard someone yell followed by the twitter of laughter.

Who _was_ Arthur? Sherlock certainly didn't know, but he did know that he felt his insides clench at the name.


	3. Finding a Name

Mycroft had found him, well, he had found a name at the very least.

Him, of course, being Arthur.

Mycroft had his people keeping an ear out for years. Watching and waiting for any sign of anyone at all that fit with what he knew concerning Arthur's personality. The fundamental things that he knew would go unchanged by time. Arthur had courage in abundance, for example, and he cared for people deeply and with a reverence. No, not just people he felt obligated too, for all humankind. God knows if he could, Arthur would single-handedly try to save the world.

Unfortunately, as it turns out, there are an insurmountable number of people who feel a duty to humanity and are very brave in their efforts to fulfill that duty. Mycroft had seen firsthand the realities of trying to sort through them all.

After all this time, after the memories of dreams and wisps of hope he had clung to for all these years, reuniting with his son might actually just come to fruition. He had to admit, at least to himself, that he likely never would have discovered this lead or would have even known where to begin looking for it, for that matter, if it wasn't for the Lady of the Lake.

One month ago, Mycroft had woken from a dream so startlingly similar to the one he had as a boy just before Sherlock was born, that he knew that there was no other explanation other than it to be the work of magic.

Mycroft found himself once again in the woods near the lake he had dreamed of so often as a boy. Each time before receiving new memories of his past. The little girl, whom he knew to actually be the Lady of the Lake, stood in a small wooden boat just off of the shoreline and out of his reach. She faced him as if judging his worth, as a warrior would size up an opponent, looking fiercer than any knight as she spoke in a terrible and awe inspiring voice.

"The Once and Future King has been spared once again for his bravery, Uther Pendragon.

He has but one more chance at a mortal life.

Find him.

The time of King Arthur is again upon us."

Everything was easy enough to discover after that. Naturally, he had immediately looked into military records first, then slowly spread out to other civil servants such as police officers to find anyone harmed in the call of duty. No civilians seemed to have heroically rushed into any burning buildings that week, which seemed to make things a bit easier, and quickly he found only two soldiers that had been discharged after being recently injured. Only one of them having been born in England and another having been born Stateside. Arthur would most assuredly have been born English, which left only one name.

It was the name, really. John Hamish Watson.

The problem that Mycroft was currently facing was that no one seemed to know exactly where John Watson was. Mycroft knew that he was seeing a psychiatrist located somewhere outside of Piccadilly Circus that he stopped attending last week and that his credit card had been used at Tesco in the West End two days ago. He would have to wait just a little longer, but after waiting for so long, he could surely handle a few more days.

-Across London-

"Solved it! Time to text Lestrade, I suppose. I mean really, any idiot could have seen that..." Sherlock thought, right before the door to the lab opened cutting of his train of thought and revealed Mike Stanford walking through the door with a blonde man. Sherlock knew by his previous conversation with Mike that whoever this man was he was supposed to be a prospective man to flat share. What he couldn't have told Mike earlier was that he was waiting for a very specific roommate, he was waiting for Arthur Pendragon and no other would do.


End file.
